Bad
by R Reich
Summary: Norrington x Sparrow slash. A set of eight linked ficlets about their relationship and the end of it. FINISHED.
1. Desperation

**1: Desperation**

Captain Jack Sparrow was James Norrington's adrenaline rush. 

To James there was something dangerously liberating about flaunting the law he normally struggled so hard to uphold. There was no one else he would do it for but Jack... he was so much more than just a special case. Jack took him to that place beyond sanity where everything made sense.

Jack twined his arms around James' neck, dragging his head down to kiss him roughly. James slammed him into the wall with a grunt, lifting Jack so he could wrap his legs around James' hips, pressing against him eagerly. 'So good, Commodore James, m'love,' Jack whispered against James' lips, clutching at the other man's shoulders. 'Need more, though, more o' you-'

The cabin door crashing open broke the moment, harshly tearing them back to the reality of their situation. 'Arrest them both,' Captain Christopher Marlow ordered from the doorway as he and his first mate, Guthrie, stormed into the room.

Untangling themselves from each other, James thrust Jack forcefully towards the open window. The ship was moored at the docks – Jack could quite easily swim ashore and hide himself in the sprawling town. 'Go!' he ordered the pirate, moving to stop Captain Marlow as he dashed to intercept Sparrow. James reached for Marlow's arm. 'Christopher, wait-'

James was roughly shoved aside and he stumbled to be caught and steadied by Guthrie. He stilled his struggles when he felt the sharp edge of a blade against his skin, and the gruff order from Guthrie to mind himself or he'd be breathing through his throat.

Marlow caught Jack and shoved him to the floor, his sword at the pirate's throat. Jack's eyes darted about, seeking an escape route. 'I wouldn't even consider it, Sparrow,' Marlow said. 'Move and Guthrie'll give the good Commodore a new set of gills. And I'm sure you wouldn't want that.' He bared his teeth in a grin at the pirate. Jack froze, his eyes darkened with desolation flicking for a moment to James.

'That will _do_, Captain Marlow,' a haughty voice sounded from the door. James recognised it immediately. Nathan E. Hamilton, Captain of the British Royal Navy. 'Commodore Norrington is not to be harmed. He shall be court-marshalled and dealt with as deemed appropriate by our superiors.' As Hamilton spoke, James was handed bodily over to Hamilton's marines by Guthrie.

'And the pirate, sir?' Marlow asked, not taking his gaze from Jack, who drew himself up with some attempt at dignity.

'Ah yes, Jack Sparrow.' From the corner of his eye James saw Hamilton move into the room. His sneer was unmistakeable from his tone, and James felt a sudden wash of fear. 'Marlow, if you will.'

Christopher Marlow pulled out his pistol smoothly and pointed it at Jack.

James' eyes widened. They were going to execute Jack right there and then! 'No...' James lunged against the hold of the marines who restrained him and Marlow jerked his head around to see what the commotion was. 'Now Jack, go! _Go_!' The pirate scrambled for the window, diving through headfirst as the shot from Marlow's pistol crunched into the wooden frame.

Gasping for breath, James sagged in the grip of the marines as Hamilton stormed from the cabin barking orders.

Marlow just glared at him in disgust.


	2. Dislocation

**2: Dislocation**

It took the combined efforts of Hamilton's men and the soldiers stationed in Providence three days to catch Jack.

James knew there was no way a man like Nathan Hamilton could let Jack escape. It was as if he had a vendetta against both of them. His disgust in James as a high-ranking member of the British Royal Navy was made painfully clear, and as for Jack... when the island was closed on Hamilton's order the moment he left the _Dauntless_, James knew his one real hope for Jack's escape had been dashed. Hamilton would do whatever it took, for as long as it would take, to assure he brought Jack Sparrow to justice... as James could not.

James hated it, but it _was_ an attitude he could appreciate, seeing in it echoes of his own behaviour from that time before Jack had stolen his senses (the canny thief). James wondered if he too had been that stiff, resolute and disliked.

The thought made him ill.

It was exhaustion that led Jack to be caught.

Worrying at his heels like a terrier, Hamilton had ordered random and simultaneous searches of different areas of the town at all times of the day and night by small groups of soldiers, hoping to flush the pirate out of hiding. After narrowly escaping a number of times roused from a troubled doze in a hideaway he had thought safe, Jack had found himself face-to-face with Christopher Marlow after vaulting through an open window to elude the squad of men approaching down the street.

Some time during those three days James realised that both he and Jack had been set up.

Either someone James had trust in had told tales out of school to Nathan Hamilton, or Hamilton – with a great leap of deduction from a string of seemingly unrelated incidences – had drawn the conclusion that there was something more going on than a mere pirate hunt. And whilst it burned James to think Hamilton had outwitted both he and Jack, the alternative – that he had been betrayed by someone he trusted implicitly – was a bitter pill to swallow.

Sitting up late over a cup of strong tea, Marlow had reacted after a slow and surprised instant. However, compared with the response of the sleep-deprivation dulled pirate, Marlow's reaction had been like lightning. Jack caught the privateer's fist on the side of his head and the blow felled him like deadwood, his eyes rolling back in his head.

There was bitterness in Marlow's eyes as he bound the unconscious pirate. He could have turned him over to Hamilton right then, but for reasons of his own, chose to wait until morning.

Before setting out to bring down Norrington and Sparrow, Hamilton had been granted a warrant giving him the power to strip James of rank and command were the rumours of his defection to the pirate proven true. 

With the support of the local Governor, it happened in a blink of the eye. His dishonourable discharge conviction and subsequent dismissal had been accomplished with such haste James was sure it could not have been entirely legal itself.

The irony did not escape him.

When Marlow handed Jack over at dawn, Hamilton, as irritated as he was by the delay, chose wisely to hold his tongue.


	3. Separation

**3: Separation**

James stood silently at the second story window, the cloudy predawn sky streaked with gold and red. The sun was yet to crest the horizon and through the open window came the crisp cleanness of air yet unspoilt by the day.

A few hours earlier, during the commotion in the hall outside his locked door, he had overheard that Jack had been caught. The news had buckled his knees and he'd slid down the door, tears silently dampening his cheeks. _A Commodore doesn't weep for a pirate_, he'd told himself coldly, before the reluctant admission, _a Commodore no longer._

The tears were angrily scrubbed from his cheeks, but he couldn't deny the ache in his chest that threatened to choke him. Pride held his head high though there were no witnesses to testify to his strength – had he allowed himself the luxury he could have lost himself to grief in that opulent and imprisoning room, but he didn't. He couldn't.

Faint fingers of sunlight danced across pale stone, chasing away shadows. It should have been beautiful, but everything had become the bitterness of ash and he could no longer even appreciate the simple sensual pleasures.

Movement at the doors to the Providence Governor's office building caught his attention. He could see Hamilton, immaculately attired in his dress uniform, take up a solitary stance of patient waiting on the steps – an automatic position of power.

The ache in James's chest tightened and he felt short of breath at the creak of protesting iron that preceded Christopher Marlow's entrance. The privateer had smartened himself up with clothing of a fine cut and weave – an elegant gloss on a man no more honest than his prisoner, Jack Sparrow.

'Jack...' a sigh, no more than a breath and fingers caressed chill glass as if to touch Jack, sickness welling up in his throat.

Jack's hands were bound and a chain trailed from that to Marlow's hand. It clinked softly in the dawn stillness. Jack was scanning his surroundings, his dark eyes wide. Inevitably, his gaze landed on the window James stood at and for a moment James feared Jack wouldn't recognise him lingering there, stripped of everything made him familiar to the pirate.

Jack's keen sight won through. There was no fear in his eyes or the way he smiled up at James as if this was a casual outing of no consequence. 'Oh Jack, break my heart, why don't you?' James sighed.

It was Hamilton drawing his sword who shattered the moment.

'Captain Marlow,' Nathan Hamilton's voice was detached, carrying easily through the clean morning air. He wordlessly held out his hand for Jack's chain. Marlow hesitated a moment before thrusting the chain angrily into his hand.

'I'll see that he is tried fairly,' Marlow bit the words out. He knew he had been used as means to an end by Hamilton – the means to capture Sparrow and dishonour Norrington – and the knowledge tasted bitter.

'Of course,' Hamilton's scorn was undeniable. He dismissed Marlow easily, turning to Jack, a coldly triumphant smile on his face and with sick horror James knew this would be the last time he would see Jack alive.

From the desperate look Jack cast towards James's window as Hamilton shoved him towards the prison building, he knew it too.


	4. Condemnation

**4: Condemnation**

Providence's church was small but sufficient for the needs of the island. Religion never rated highly on the agenda of the smaller islands of the Spanish Main, so there were only two people in the church on the day of Sparrow's trial. James's guards – men from Hamilton's own command – were stationed outside the doors whilst James was inside, Lieutenant Groves his only companion.

Groves shifted uneasily on the pew. His discomfort didn't arise because the pew was uncomfortable – although pews would never be _lauded_ for their level of comfort – his agitation rose from the secret he harboured.

Movement at the side door caught Groves' attention. James remained as he was, the pose of the penitent, hands tightly clasped at his chest and his eyes closed. He prayed not for a miracle for he no longer believed in them, but for Jack to forgive him. If he'd tried _harder_ to get the pirate pardoned after the events at Isla de Muerta, then Jack might have had the chance to live a full life. A tear slipped from under his eyelid and tracked down his cheek. His fault.

Gillette entered the church, his steps hesitant. The glance that passed between him and Groves said everything words did not. Groves' shoulders slumped and he dropped his head into his hands, full of self-loathing. That Jack _wouldn't_ be condemned to hang had been a fool's hope, but both men had been won over by the pirate's winsome behaviour towards their commanding officer, even to abetting James and Jack to the best of their abilities.

That was, at least, until Groves had let drink best him.

And now it was time for him to confess his injudiciousness. He bit his lip and looked at James, who had been drawn from his daze by Gillette's entrance. 'Commodore Norrington, sir?' Groves said hesitantly, leaning forward to catch James's attention.

James turned. 'Not "Commodore" any longer,' he said bitterly, moving to seat himself on a pew. 'Just "mister" like any other civilian. Or James. You know me well enough.'

'Sorry, Mister Commodore – ah, James – sir,' Groves stammered, flustered. Guilt had his measure. He took a deep breath and spoke, 'It's my fault that you and Jack were caught.'

James jerked his head up, his eyes wide. 'What?'

'I was drinking with Marlow's first mate in Port Royal. He was buying and expressed interest in whether we'd had any luck with catching up with Sparrow and I just – I mentioned we'd seen – they _must_ have had their suspicions because when I...' he trailed off, blinking back tears of frantic dismay. 'He asked _specifically_ about you and Jack. I didn't say anything, I swear to god I didn't, but... he must have just _known_ from my reaction. I am sorry, James.'

James blinked, silent and unable to process what Groves had told him. He nodded once to acknowledge Groves' remorse, and turned to Gillette. 'You bring news?'

Gillette nodded, moving to seat himself next to James. 'Marlow did his best to see Jack tried fairly, but... it was a total _farce_,' he said in disgust. 'Nothing Marlow said could have changed the result.'

'Ah,' James said. 'When?'

'In a week.' Gillette swallowed. 'They're going to make a holiday of it, sir, more so than a normal hanging. At Hamilton's request.'


	5. Revelation

**5: Revelation**

Last request of a condemned man. It was highly unusual, but the one concession Marlow could gain for Jack. Hamilton's tone was supercilious, he knew what Jack would request, but wanted Jack to actually say it.

Jack Sparrow raised his chin defiantly. Part of him childishly wanted to ask for something else, but he wasn't foolish enough to throw away his last chance to see James.

'Fetch Mr. Norrington.'

_Mr._ Norrington. Not Commodore. Jack bit his lip, even as Hamilton smiled mockingly. They'd stripped James of his commission, and it was Jack's fault. He raised his chin, moulding his expression into one of lazy indifference.

The cell was dank and foul, the straw soggy underfoot. It made Jack's cell in Port Royal seem a paradise.

'Jack...?'

He was on his feet and to the bars in a split second. 'James,' he whispered, reaching between them to grasp James's warm hands tightly.

Everything that made James the aloof, uptight man he had been when they first met had been extinguished by their turbulent affair. Jack had broken James, succeeded in drawing him into that decadent life where he served himself above others. And Jack regretted it with bitterness stronger than he had ever felt.

James was unshaven and ashen, his eyes bruised with exhaustion, but Jack didn't think he'd ever wanted him as much as he did then – wanted to hold him without the obstruction of bars. 'I'm sorry,' he blurted, clinging to James tightly.

James flinched. 'Why?' he asked, softly anguished. 'I should have tried harder for you-'

'Hush, Jamie.' Jack placed his fingers against James's lips. 'It's not your fault. I shouldn't have drawn you into this, I shouldn't have brought you so far down...'

'I didn't go anywhere I didn't want to go,' James whispered against Jack's fingertips. He snared Jack's wrist and kissed his palm. 'I followed you because I _wanted_ to.'

The tightness in his chest rendering him breathless, Jack couldn't bring himself to meet James's gaze. Bright eyed James saw far too much at times. 'I-' Jack bit back the words on his tongue, knowing that it wouldn't be fair to say them. James knew Jack cared for him – that would have to be enough.

'Goodbye James,' he said instead. Muted, nearly choked up.

James's gaze dropped for a moment. When he raised his eyes, his expression was clear. He gave Jack a tremulous glimmer of his rare smile. Jack felt his chest loosen. 'No,' he said, 'this isn't goodbye, Jack. _Never_ goodbye.'

He reached out, tilting Jack's head up and drawing him forward so he could kiss him through the bars. Jack moaned softly against James's mouth, bunching his hands into James's shirt.

They broke apart as Hamilton clattered down the stairs. 'Time's up,' he said abruptly.

James and Jack looked at each other, wide eyed and distraught. This was it. 'I love you,' James whispered, gripping Jack's hand tightly.

Jack cringed when James said what he couldn't. 'Don't look back, Jamie...' he urged, releasing James's hand.

James stole one last kiss before turning to be hustled away by Hamilton.

Later, still standing by the bars, Jack rested his forehead against the cold iron that separated him from freedom. He sighed, softly, palmed the tears from his cheeks and whispered, 'I love you, Jamie...'


	6. In Temptation

**6: In Temptation**

'Follow me.'

Marlow gestured briskly for James to follow. James did, every question he posed going unanswered.

'In here.' Marlow gestured to the heavy wooden door before him. 'I have guards stationed outside the window. It is barred. I will be outside this door, with my sword drawn. If he tries to escape, he will be killed, understand?'

'You – you mean Jack?'

Marlow ignored him. 'Or there is this.' He slapped something into James's hand and shoved him towards the door Guthrie had jerked open.

James stumbled into the room, confused and unbalanced. He got a faint glimpse of a bed, of expensive furnishings and carpets, before he was attacked, his breath whooshing from his lungs. Head pounding from impact with the floor, James squinted up at Jack who sat on his chest, his hands tight on James's throat.

'Jamie!' Jacks eyes widened, and he released his grip. 'Ah, love, what have I done t' you?'

James coughed softly and blinked owlishly, reaching up to tentatively trace the large bruise that decorated Jack's cheekbone. 'What have they done to _you_?' The pirate leant into his touch with a low murmur of pleasure. He snared James's hand and after a lick and kiss, nipped playfully at James's wrist. James yelped, and tried to jerk his hand away. When Jack's dark eyes glinted with amusement it was clear that incarceration and condemnation may have battered him, but it hadn't broken his indomitable spirit.

'Nothing _you_ can't fix,' Jack purred. 'What's this?' He picked up the object Marlow had given James.

It was a knife. James swallowed. 'Marlow gave it to me.'

'Ah.' Jack smiled, a brief glimmer of white and gold. 'We won't be needin' that just now, now will we?' He dragged James to his feet, and pushed him towards the bed, grinning now, wickedly. ''Cept maybe to remove these pesky clothes o' yours...'

Jack idly traced his lips over James's collarbone, lapping at his sweat-slick flesh. He could feel James's heartbeat under his hand – it was comforting and strong. And when he stretched lethargically, he revelled in the slither of heated skin on skin. Roused by his lover's movements, James shifted, making a low, deep noise of pleasure in his throat as his hands tightened for a moment on Jack's shoulders. 

He then let out an indignant and undignified yip of pain as he moved to cover Jack's body with his. Fumbling beneath his leg, he produced the knife Marlow had pressed on him, the edge now reddened by his blood. His gaze jerked up meet Jack's, and the moment was well and truly broken.

The stained blade in James's hand begged the question neither could say.

Jack shuddered convulsively. 'I don't want t' die, Jamie,' he whispered, anguished.

'Oh, Jack...'

'I'm... I'm _scared_-'

Putting the knife aside, James silenced Jack with his own mouth, and they clung to each other tightly as fear gradually evolved once more into urgent, frantic desire.

Marlow opened the door. 

James and Jack were entwined on the bed, still beneath a scarlet blanket. He saw the way their fingers tangled together on the handle of the knife, and finally understood what he had done. The guilt was overwhelming.

He reached out to touch James's shoulder, and the other man's eyes opened. James just nodded.


	7. Isolation

**7: Isolation**

The last days were the hardest.

Jack locked in his cell with nothing for company but the stars through his barred window and the nervous guards who feared him, and James, just as much a prisoner as his pirate lover, his movements restricted until he chose to remain in the room assigned to him, curled up on the bed aching hollowly inside.

Hamilton didn't trust either of them, and barred James from attending the hanging. James doubted he could have gone even if permitted. He didn't want his last sight of Jack to be him dangling on the end of a rope, maybe kicking and jerking as he suffocated.

He could hear the cheering outside, the ecstatic pleasure of the mob there to celebrate Jack's hanging. Hamilton truly was the flavour of the month in Providence by making the execution a festival to the likes never seen before on the island. James knew Hamilton would have taken the hanging to a larger city, Port Royal even, if he could. Just so more people could bear witness his victory over the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow.

James drew little consolation from the reason real why Hamilton did not move the hanging. Truth was Nathan Hamilton feared Jack. Feared Jack would find some way to escape like the elusive spirit he was. God knew James had a devil of a time tracking Jack when he'd been on the pirate's trail himself.

One day's head start... but then the hunt had changed for them both.

He remembered finally cornering Jack in an alley in St. Eustatius, the only way of escape to go through James. He remembered teaming up with Jack to fight off the brigands who would have killed them both. He remembered Jack tucking himself under James's arm, helping him stagger to a back-alley doctor who was more a butcher than a practitioner of medicine. He remembered Jack disregarding his own wounds to threaten the doctor with horrors a thousand times worse than death if he didn't mend James. He remembered blood and pain and squeezing Jack's hands tightly as he tried not to scream. He remembered Jack telling him the tallest of tales, anything to distract him from the pain, still talking even when his voice grew hoarse.

James shuddered as thrilled cheering drew him back to the present, and he gritted his teeth. The preliminary festivities – other criminals in Providence's cells being 'dealt with' – were underway. He heard the thud of an axe – maybe a beheading, or maybe just a minor thief having their hand cut off as a deterrent to others. God, it sickened him to the stomach how death and pain were the heartless mob's ambrosia.

He'd presided over his share of hangings, but he'd never enjoyed it – no matter how much the criminal had deserved it. The sound of the dropping trap and creaking ropes haunted him for days after. But it was his duty – _had_ been his duty. Something he was required to do. And never before had he heard a crowd this frenzied with anticipation. The sound of the crowd was a din in his ears, in the sharp metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

When he heard an expectant silence sweep over the crowd he doubled over the chamber pot, retching once more.


	8. Desolation

**8: Desolation**

The _Black Pearl_ heeled around sharply, the crash of water against her bow sending an arc of water high into the air, spray sparkling a dazzling rainbow of refracted sunlight. The ocean ran a deep, dark blue, reflecting the flawless sky in a broken shimmer of sun-capped waves.

Her captain stood at the wheel; tall, silent and severe. A good captain, nearly as good as the one who preceded him, but characterised by firm determination and severity rather than sly cunning, humour and mischief.

'_You're a leader of men, not a bean counter. Do it for me, Jamie. It's what I can give you...'_

'All I wanted was you.'

'Aye, I know you did, and you gave it all up for me as a result. What's done is done, love. I don't regret it for a moment and I'd like t'hope you don't either.'

'You know I don't.'

The shadow from the lamplight hollowed out Jack's cheeks and hid his eyes in shadow. 'Then take the Pearl. She'll accept you. The crew'll accept you. You're better'n what that Navy bastard would make you. Take the Pearl for me_. Lead, Jamie.'_

Hamilton loomed in the doorway of the captain's cabin of the _Pearl_, sword in hand. 'As I caught Sparrow, I've caught you too.' His voice was soft and deeply satisfied.

Jamie leant back in his chair; long legs stretched out in front and crossed at the ankle. 'Have you really, now?'

Hamilton barked a laugh. 'If Sparrow couldn't escape, you certainly won't. You lack the... imagination, Norrington. You've given us a run for our money, yes, and infiltrating the crew of the _Defiant_ was,' his mouth twisted, 'impressive,' the word was spat like poison, 'but you won't get away. Not this time.'

'Says who? You?'

Hamilton delivered a withering look. 'You, of all people, know what the Navy does with _pirates_.' 

'Intimately,' Jamie murmured, smiling a faint, infuriating smile and Hamilton flushed a deep, angry red at the insinuation.

Jamie dropped to his knees on the deck, exhausted and weak. His sword clattered from numb fingers as he fell forward onto his hands.

Hamilton stood over him, his face contorted and one hand pressed for a moment against his side. He rested his blade against Jamie's bared, bloodied neck, steadying himself with both hands on the grip as he raised the sword above his head. He brought it down swiftly.

Jamie lunged to his feet, grunting as Hamilton's sword-edge sliced across his shoulder. The pain was forgotten, however, as he slammed into the other man, driving his dagger under Hamilton's ribs. Hamilton lurched forward, dropping his sword and clutching at Jamie's hand. Jamie jerked the blade, driving it deeper until Hamilton's knees buckled.

Death came swiftly and Jamie lowered the limp man to the gore-stained deck, managing two steps before collapsing himself. Instantly Gibbs was at his side, saying they'd rounded up the surviving marines, but Jamie didn't care. All he wanted was for the nightmare to end.

It took a moment for Jamie to realise that with Hamilton dead he could hand the _Pearl_ over to Anamaria. The Navy would quadruple the price on his head of course, but by then he'd have vanished like he never existed.

He finally smiled. 'It's done Jack,' he murmured softly. 'It's over.'


End file.
